"Trothguard" by Dylan Cline

Khale shrugged uncomfortably in his new breastplate. The fit was fine, but the weight still felt awkward on his shoulders. Four weeks ago, he’d stood under the domed halls of Bolvorge – capital city of Cahl’lagh – in the midst of kings and queens. Now, he served amongst men and women no less common than the sandy soil beneath his armor-plated boots. He sat, staring at the ground around him as he quietly scrubbed pot after dirty pot in the water of the lake.

‘Damn them!’ Khale cursed, as he angrily scrubbed at cooked-on grime. ‘Damn my parents! Them, and this cursed rabble of idiots!’ he angrily swiped a hand through the tangled mat of black hair that clung to his forehead. Quietly, he cursed that too. His thick black hair – once the envy of noble and commoner alike – now clung to his sweaty skin in unwashed tangles.

Heavy footfalls roused Khale from his dark thoughts, briefly changing his mood from one of hate and anger, to simple curiosity as he turned to look at the owner of such heavy steps.

“Tired of doing the scullery work, my lord?”

Khale glared into the dark brown eyes of his commanding officer, Lord Taerom Hawk, leader of the 21st Cavalry of the Knights of Aaval. The man wore a heavy ebony cuirass, twin griffons emblazoned in silver upon each breast. Long, shimmering brown hair hung over his shoulders, and down onto his back. Khale hated him. Hated this commander of fools even more than he hated his parents, or the peers that had sentenced him to this servitude.

“If this was court-” Khale sneered, as he angrily threw the pot he’d been scrubbing halfway into the river only a few feet away.

Taerom gestured angrily with one hand, cutting off the young noble as he watched the pot sail through the air, and land with a splash in the lake. “This, young Lord Khale, is not court. This,” Taerom gestured behind him in the direction of the camp, “Is the army. My company, under my command, and you’ll learn to follow orders as they are given or you will die, alone and confused on the field of battle.” Taerom paused a moment, and let his words sink in. “That, infantryman Khale, is the only choice you have. Live by my rules, or die following yours.”

Khale glared at Taerom, and briefly toyed with the idea of plunging his shortsword through the man’s unprotected neck. “Finish here,” Taerom said, gesturing at the pots left. “And then report to your squad commander. We move at daybreak.”


Taerom’s cloak swirled softly against his armored legs. The black silk, delicately embroidered with the outline of silver flames running up it, briefly caught his eye. For the second time in a day, he made a mental note to thank his tailor, when next he stood within the glistening walls of Bolvorge.

“Thinking of home again?”

Taerom grinned, as his under-lieutenant and childhood friend, Daro, came to stand beside him. “Always thinking of home,” Taerom replied.

Daro laughed, as he always did, and shook his head – also a familiar gesture. “It’ll be a while before we set foot there again,” he commented quietly as he looked back at the thousands of neat, organized white tents that covered the sweeping valley below him. “War is coming,” he continued quietly, as if by speaking softly he could make his words less true.

“And we will meet the war with the steel of our wills, and the edge of our blades,” Taerom replied, as he turned to look over the valley.

Daro nodded, but his blue eyes looked troubled. “I don’t doubt that we will,” he said, still quietly. “But will we survive?”

For a long time, Taerom and Daro looked at one another silently. Finally, Taerom shrugged. “It’s our duty to fight, Daro.” He gestured at the tents below. “We were called to take up arms, in the event of war.” He paused, and looked once more at his friend. “We weren’t called to win… only to fight.”


…need not be whole, to be of use. Though, these ‘uncompleted’ works have a tendency to ‘die’ more often than their complete brethren, the experience gained from the creation of such a creature is still invaluable to the learning process of any new necromancer…

Khale sighed as he read the words again. At his feet, the skeletal remains of a large wolf had been spread out on the ground. ‘Work damn you,’ Khale thought again, as he softly chanted the words that should have easily animated the remains at his feet. The last word left his mouth, and Khale watched as – again – the skeleton seemed to twitch with life. But, as it had every time before that, the twitches stopped, and Khale was left staring at nothing more than bones.

“What am I missing?” he whispered to himself, as he stared at the puzzle before him. He’d reported to his squad commander earlier that day, did a few more chores, and was then left alone to do whatever he wanted for the evening. All evening he’d sat there, in a small grove of trees a safe distance away from the camp. And, as the light died, he had tried over and over again to animate the corpse.

Frustrated, and half blind in the moonlit darkness, Khale slammed his fist against the bark of a thick tree to his left. Pain shot through his hand as the broken end of a twig punctured deep into the bottom of his hand. Cursing, Khale drew his hand back towards himself, frustrated and angry that his animation hadn’t worked, and now in pain because of his frustration.

“Damn this!” Khale glared at the bones, and glared at the book that he could still faintly see sitting on the ground to his left. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be sitting amongst my noble peers, rather than out here with this damned ‘army’ of infidels and idiots.”

Sighing, Khale sat down again, noting that his hand had thankfully stopped bleeding. ‘Not so deep then,’ he thought to himself, as he stared at the bones, and wondered again what he was missing.

Dark eyes glittering, Khale moved closer to the bones, looking at every one to make sure it was in its correct place and securely bound by strips of leather. After a while, he gave up looking for a flaw. Everything was as it should be – or, at least it seemed so to his night-blinded eyes.

‘One more time,’ he thought. ‘And if it doesn’t work, then I forget about this stupid book, and I forget about this damned army, and I go the hell home!’

Again, the words flowed from his mouth, soft and musical, and Khale once more floated on the ecstasy of the energies his words called into play. The very air around him seemed to vibrate with life, the trees and grasses smelled stronger, and the small animals and bugs within the wooded glade only added to the music of his words.

All too soon, the magic was past, and the words died on his lips as the bones began to move. The same slow twitching as all the times before. And, as every time before, the twitches began to slow. “Damn it!” Khale cursed angrily, turning his back on both the book, and the still twitching bones. “I’m going home…”

Khale quickly crossed the clearing to the ring of small bushes and thick trees that ringed the unique glade. A sudden urge stopped him from leaving though, and he slowly glanced over his shoulder.

The wolf – or rather, the remains of the once noble creature, stood erect and in the center of the clearing. Hollow eye sockets gazed at him from the incomplete animation. Half the ribs on the left side of the body had been brutally shattered, likely had in fact been what killed it. And, consequently, what made it one such unfinished work.

“Yes!” Khale laughed as he nearly sprinted to the skeletal wolf. “It worked! By the Gods!” Khale laughed again, as he slowly circled the creature. Thrilled by his unexpected accomplishment, Khale eagerly grabbed up the book from where it lay on the ground. He had long ago memorized the commands that would control his animation, but he strained to read them again in the moonlight. The language was ancient. A long lost dialect from a long lost people. A dialect that lived on only by the grace of those who used it, the wizards.

“Come to me,” Khale commanded the creature, as he slowly walked to the other side of the glade. Skeletal limbs shifted for the first time in years, and the creature slowly padded forward. The moon glinted off the soft white of its bones as it crossed the grass to sit at Khale’s armor-plated feet.

Grinning with excitement, Khale watched as a foolish owl slowly landed in the grass at the edge of the trees, likely looking for a swift mouse that it had lost sight of amongst the bushes.

“Kill,” Khale softly commanded. As was expected, the wolf didn’t get anywhere near the owl before the bird noticed, and quickly took flight. Then again, that had never been the point. The skeletal wolf sat and stared into the air where the owl had disappeared.

“You are a valuable lesson,” Khale said as he crossed to the animated remains. “I think I’ll keep you… for a while, at least.” He said, as he too stared into the night sky, softly stroking his hand over the smooth skull as the stars above glittered like diamonds, and the moon shone brightly.

Khale smiled quietly. ‘A dead sun,’ he mused, as he gazed at the cold countenance of the moon. ‘The Necromancer’s Sun,’ he thought, as he laughed aloud.

“Stay.” Khale smiled at the animation as he left the clearing. ‘Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder,’ he thought as he softly and silently crept back into his tent.


“Injured your hand scrubbing pots, infantryman?”

Khale shrugged at his squad commander. “Must have,” he muttered, as he slipped his gauntlet onto his hand.

The commander was a nice enough man. Average height, but built like an oak, he held an air of confidence about him. His smile only rarely left his face, and he got along quite well with the twenty-five men he’d been given to command. Khale even grudgingly respected his squadron commander, and after last nights success, even the man’s attempted quip couldn’t bring a frown to his noble face.

“Hahaha,” his commander laughed heartily, “Good to see you smiling Khale,” he said. “After the way Lord Taerom came down on you in front of everyone, I was kinda worried you’d be sullen like the rest of this lot,” he winked, and laughed at his own humor.

Khale grunted as he shrugged his pack onto his shoulders. The legion had been given orders to pack up and be ready for marching by sunrise, and true to form, they were. “We all get what we deserve,” Khale said as he shrugged again.

“True, true,” the commander said, as he gestured for his men to form up and fall into the already moving column of mounted men, and swiftly marching infantry that made up the bulk of any army. Behind the infantry, a line of wagons crept into motion, quietly watched over by Daro’s most veteran infantry.

The 21st Cavaliers were made up of five squadrons of twenty-five men. The first squad – commanded by Lord Taerom – was made up of the most veteran of the legion’s riders, and was completely cavalry. The second squad – commanded by Lord Daro – was a unit comprised of ten cavalry and fifteen infantry, and was usually used for guarding the rear of the column and scouting. The last three squadrons each were made up of five cavalry, and twenty infantry. Combined, they were the 21st Cavaliers, commonly referred to as the Hammer.


Khale dropped to the ground along with the rest of his squadron when Taerom finally called a halt. There was just enough light for the tents to be set up, and wood and bits of food to be distributed for fires before night fell. Smiling, Khale leaned his forearms across his knees as he sat on the ground near the fire, waiting for a thick stew that had been hastily whipped up to be done. He could sense his animation somewhere to his right. It had followed orders perfectly all day, staying out of the sight of scouts as it followed the legion.

A man to his left passed him a steaming bowl of stew. “Eat up. Good for you, ya know. Rabbit makes nice stew,” the man grinned, as if thinking he’d made some joke.

“Yea,” Khale muttered as he quickly began eating. “Thanks,” he said, gesturing with his spoon to the bowl.

The man laughed, “Don’t mention it, m’lord.” Khale was surprised to hear those words spoken plainly. Usually, ‘Lord’ was a sneered word when directed at him. One dripping with sarcasm and contempt. “Just train hard like the rest of us grunts, and you’ll get on fine.” The man shrugged as he waved his spoon in the air. “Not hard really, just say a lot of ‘yes sire’ and keep your head down.”

Khale laughed and finished his stew. “I’ll do that,” he said as he turned and quietly slipped into his tent, and into the warmth of his bed.


The next days flowed by in a blur, as the 21st Cavaliers marched through untamed seas of knee-high grass. They were close to the border of the mysterious land of Mach’Lithe. Great white marble obelisks rose towering into the sky every few hundred feet, outlining the slightly shimmering barrier that marked the lands of the unknown.

Mach’Lithe hadn’t always been a mystery. Ancient maps marked it as a center of trade, and ancient texts told tales of great magics. Khale, like most people, had heard the tales of Mach’Lithe. It was a place from which none returned. Entire armies had been sent through the shimmering border, never to be seen again. It was a cursed place some said. Old tales told of an ancient war between mortals and Gods, of an empire fallen from grace. Some said Mach’Lithe was an empire that had dared to raise its magics and steel against the very Gods. Legend told that Mach’Lithe lost that battle, and some claim that as punishment, the land was destroyed – cast into a place of dark beasts, and darker Gods. Others speculated that Mach’Lithe was the victor, and that to pass though the border was to enter the realm of the newest Gods.

Khale had never been one to wonder for too long on the subject. It was a place that you simply did not return from, and he wanted nothing of such a place. Silently, he thanked whatever Gods were listening that the Hammer didn’t have to guard the cursed border.

The soldier beside Khale – a veteran by the look of his sturdy frame, and the way he walked with easy confidence – smiled wryly at the white pillars. “He does this every time,” the man said, glancing at Khale, “Always takes the long way to Nyve, so that the new recruits get a look at the Border.”

“Why?” Khale asked.

The man shrugged. “Spook the newcomer’s maybe? Show that he doesn’t fear the border? Following orders? Who knows? Lord Taerom’s actions are a mystery to most people.”

Khale glanced around, looking over the shimmering sea of grass stretching in ever direction. “And where are we now?”

The man glanced up at the sky, and then at the glistening pillars stretching behind them and in front of them, in a seemingly endless line. “Near Wynd would be my guess.”

“Wynd?”

The man grunted, and spat at the ground at his feet. “What, you never looked at a map before, boy?” Khale replied with a blank stare, and the man sighed. “It’s on the edge of the forest. A few weeks’ ride south west of Dargelne – the capital city of Aaval. We’ll likely start turning a bit more east, so as to stop in that city and re-supply before moving on to Nyve, and then straight north to Dargelne.”

“Why to this Nyve place? Why not just head straight for the Capital?” Khale asked, as he swatted a pesky fly.

The man shrugged, and spat again. “You sure are full of questions, aint you m’lord?” the man shrugged again, and ran a hand over his short hair, his brown eyes seeming to lose focus for a minute as he thought. “It’s our route. The Knighthood is staged out of the Capital, but we have bases in all six of the main cities. We’ll end up hitting all six of them as we travel too. It’s training really. We’ll likely march right until winter, when we’ll wait in the Capital, before moving east to the seaside city of Rundya and the forest city of Finar. Then from there, we head back to Cravon, and if outright war isn’t biting at our heels by then, we do it all again.”

Khale thought about that for a minute. “I suppose it makes sense. As we pass through the six main cities, we’ll likely hit other, smaller cities and towns.”

“So?”

Shrugging, Khale glanced at the cloudless blue sky. “So every time we pass through a city or town, it reminds the people of Aaval of the strength and honor of the Knighthood. The more they see of the army, the more they think about it, and the more young recruits the army ends up getting.” Khale paused for a while. “Are all the routes the same?”

“Huh?” the man grunted, spitting once again.

“The routs that the legions take… are they all the same?”

The man laughed, “No. We’re the only one that passes through these particular cities. Other legions hit other cities. Not always the same every year, either.”

“So the entire land of Aaval has some kind of contact with the military,” Khale mused. “People are constantly reminded of the proud power of the legions that their taxes help to fund.”

“Suppose they are,” the man said shrugging. “Keeps people happy. Knowing that their military is always on the move, always protecting them from danger.”

Khale laughed. “What danger? Worst I’ve seen so far are bugs.”

“Aye,” the man grinned, “And that’s likely all you’ll see. Once in a while, a village will ask for aid against wolves, or bandits, but for the most part it’s a fairly boring time. Necromancers spring up ever once in a while too. Hard buggers to bring down, they are. And crazy to boot.”

Khale nodded, and fell silent as he marched, having more than enough to think about. He’d figured out that blood was the key to animation. His wolf still followed the legion tirelessly, and while Khale had constantly been on the lookout for more skeletal remains, he’d not found any of use for days.

‘Soon enough,’ a small voice in his head said. ‘Cities always have dark crypts and even darker secrets. It will be easy to get lost in the press of the city, and then I’ll have plenty of time to study my creations. Without having to worry about this damned military.’

Khale smiled, as he marched on under the blistering summer sun. Everything was falling into place. ‘And once I get to the city, it’s easy enough to stage my own death. I’ll just get my wolf to kill someone, and then I’ll throw my armor on them, and make sure to remove the head so they can’t ever discover that it wasn’t actually me that died.’ Khale’s smile broadened as he marched. Every step made him one foot closer to his dream.


“Sire, Lord Daro is here as you asked.”

Taerom glanced up from his folding desk to the soldier standing in the tent flap. “Send him in,” he said, as he set aside his pen and inkwell, and stood to great his friend.

“You sent for me, Taerom?” Daro asked as he stepped into the tent. His blue eyes reflected concern.

Taerom gestured disarmingly. “Nothing to do with you my friend. It’s about the new kid.”

Daro grinned and laughed sharply. “What about him?” he asked, as he lowered himself carefully into one of the folding chairs that occupied the tent. Both men knew who Taerom meant by ‘the new kid’, even though they’d gotten over fifty new recruits in the city of Cravon.

“I think he’s going to try and defect.”

“So?” Daro asked as he shrugged. “Let him. He’s a less-than-adequate soldier. We don’t need fools like him. He never wanted to be one of us anyhow. He doesn’t hear the call of battle, just the babble of court.”

Taerom laughed, and glanced around his tent. Larger than four ordinary tents put together, it was a commanders’ tent in every sense of the term. Although, unlike most commanders’ tents, Taerom’s was nearly barren. A folding desk, surrounded by five folding chairs dominated the center of the room, and a pile of throw pillows sat against one wall, for when he was tired of sitting on chairs. The top left corner of the tent was walled off by sheets of white fabric, and housed only a simple cot and a small nightstand – also folding. Beyond that, the tent was empty.

“I was told by my commanders that he was to be trained and used. I’m worried about what will happen if he runs.” Taerom sank down into the folding chair in front of his desk.

“It couldn’t be blamed on you,” Daro said, his voice attesting to the surety of his words. “If anything, it would be simple enough to place the blame on his commanding officer. After all, it is he who has been charged with the welfare of the arrogant brat.”

Taerom shrugged, mulling over the possible outcomes of the situation. “Yes, I suppose you are right…”

Daro grinned, “Now, is that all Taerom?”

Taerom grinned as he moved to his bed and grabbed a flask from under a pillow. “Care for a drink?” he asked. “After all, we should celebrate the fact that even if the brat dies, the blame can be directed elsewhere.”

A grin split Daro’s face. “Sounds to me like a damned good reason to drink… then again, most things are.”


“And that, my friends, is Wynd.”

Khale stared at the huge city from where he stood. ‘Almost like home,’ he thought. ‘Less grand, of course, but almost…’

Wynd was one of six major cities in Aaval, and was populated with well over half a million peoples, and boasted a garrison of just over two thousand men, with room for another one-thousand-five-hundred at any given time. Glistening walls of solid stone rose towering into the sky, and men and women in the royal blue of the Knights of Aaval marched solemnly atop the walls.

Even the outskirts of the city were impressive, boasting well constructed, and beautifully maintained, one or two story buildings. The further you moved into the great city, the more impressive it became. Three great parks showed off the wonders of nature, with trees and flowers in abundance. The Fortress of Wynd, center of the city, and by far it’s most important structure, dominated the horizon for miles. It rose towering hundreds of feet in the air, and housed not only the local garrison of two thousand men, but well over five thousand servants and family members as well.

Khale, though used to such grand displays of power and wealth from his own home city of Bolvorge – a city well over twice the size of the one he now gazed at – was impressed. Wynd was a wealthy city, and though it was half the size of his home, the military was much more impressive and pronounced here.

‘Getting my wolf into this city may be a bit more difficult than I thought,’ Khale mused as he followed with the rest of his squadron into the city. The thick walls created a tunnel five feet long, and while that wasn’t a staggering distance, it held small windows made for archers all along the five foot expanse. Though he didn’t know for sure, Khale suspected that the three other gates leading into Wynd were much the same. Nothing passed into the city unnoticed.

Khale was suddenly glad that he’d commanded his wolf to stay away from the city, since if it tried to follow him in, it would have surely raised an alarm. ‘So I’ll just have to find another corpse to animate,’ Khale thought to himself as the legion slowly moved deeper into the city.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. As was custom, the legion formed up in the huge courtyard of the Fortress of Wynd, presenting themselves to the High Commander himself. After that brief inspection, the legion was led into the Fortress proper, and was broken into their squadrons again to be assigned sleeping quarters. With that finished, the legionaries were left to their own devices. Many changed out of their armor, bathed, and then headed straight into the city for drink, or women, or gambling… or all three. Even the most veteran soldiers had their vices.